


Holding Onto What Escapes Me

by Flames_and_Jade



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Crying, Getting Back Together, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Post-Hiatus, Smut, finding each other, happy endings, mention of suicide attempt (very brief), moping, post-divorce feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-12
Updated: 2017-05-12
Packaged: 2018-10-30 23:05:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10886781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flames_and_Jade/pseuds/Flames_and_Jade
Summary: He missed her...didn't he? Or did he just miss the feeling of not being alone, of havingsomeone, of drowning out missing him until it didn't hurt anymore.ORThe obligatory Peterick post-hiatus getting-together story that came out of my angsty night.





	Holding Onto What Escapes Me

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like everyone's written one of these, but I couldn't help it. I was feeling blue and down and for whatever reason writing about heartbreak and then giving it a happy ending makes me feel like my own isn't quite as bleak. This is unbeta'd so all mistakes are mine, and the title is from "Calm Before the Storm." Thanks to Jiksa for procrastinating her vacuuming and letting me be mopey, and to Shattered_mirrors_and_lace for encouraging my angst-fests. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! <3

 

 

The wall was a muted blue color in the darkness of 3:44am. He hated it, so he buried his head in his covers and realized he hated them too. Everywhere he looked all he saw was _her_ , all he felt and smelled and heard and ached was _her_.

 

And him.

 

It had been nine months, nine months since the divorce had been final, but it had been a year since it had been over. He had been doing _so well,_ he had been going to therapy, journaling out his feelings, looking his reflection in the face and telling it that it was _good enough_ . He had been focusing on being a good father to his son, vowing that Bronx would grow up happy no matter what. He had been actually _practicing_ his bass, been reading books and going on runs and actually grocery shopped now. He was doing _good_.

 

But every now and then...he wouldn’t be good. He wouldn’t be okay...something would remind him of Ashlee, of the life he lost that he thought was the best he’d ever get, and he would curl up and just wish for it to all stop hurting.

 

The thing he thought was real, the thing he had spent so much time convincing himself that he wanted, that he needed, that was everything he had dreamed of and more. He thought he had found the only forever outside of _him_ that would keep the darkness from leaching out from behind his eyelids, the screams of his mind to be too much. But she was gone.

 

 _You knew it would never work. You KNEW that she was just a substitute...she was like smoking pot when you’re craving crack. You KNEW you could never love her the way you loved him._ He pulled his pillow over his face and screamed.

 

_I tried. I tried so hard, I thought if I believed it it would become true._

 

The darkness laughed at him and he felt his heart breaking under the strain. How strange it was, to lie here crying for the wife he’d lost that he only took to stop crying over his best friend. How broken was that, how bloodied was his own heart that this was where he found himself?

 

_Failure. Failure. Failure. Freak. Freak. Freak._

 

It was a jumble, it was a mess, it was a disaster. It was a car sliding on the ice, everything slowing to an achingly glacial pace as your tractionless tires betrayed you. As you hurtled towards something you couldn't run from, you couldn’t look away from, you could only feel the way you were _powerless_.

 

_Powerless._

 

The word echoed in his head and for the first time, it was like his _own_ mind sat up and noticed. Flailed its head above the waves of madness and looked around.

 

_You aren’t powerless, least of all now. Now you just have to do something about it._

 

Do something about it. He laughed mirthlessly to the underside of his pillow. He’d been trying to do _anything_ but that. Anything but fucking up the best thing that’d ever happened to him. The darkness whispered that he could just make it go away. That it had the thing he’d wanted for so long-- _silence._

 

That was the thing Patrick had always been for him. _Silence._ Not in the typical use of the word--Patrick could talk a blue streak if he wanted. But something about him, about his presence...it was like he was the silence that Pete had always craved so badly, he was the peace he could never quite find, he was the calm in the eye of Pete’s storm. Just sitting next to Patrick, his face pressed between the back of his shoulder and the couch cushion, Pete could always find an ounce of silence there, just touching him. Or when he’d wake up to Patrick shaking him loose from a nightmare and pull him sobbing into bed with him, begging for it to stop...Patrick would wrap him up tight and whisper quiet reassurance in his ear that cut through the screaming. That pushed down the fear.

 

But Patrick was gone, the band was gone, Ashlee was gone. It was all gone, and it was just Pete now, Pete and his demons and the silence that wasn't the silence he needed.

 

 _Patrick_ . He rolled over and pulled his phone from the charger on the nightstand, distantly impressed with himself that he had remembered to put it there. _Look at you, adulting like a motherfucker, you loser._ He tapped a few times and Patrick’s voice came from the tiny speakers, soaring over synthesizers and drums. _Explode_ was such an odd track, he’d always thought, but it was _so Patrick_. He loved it, for that.

 

After he’d listened to the album twice through, the darkness was less thick, the screams less razor-edged. But it still ached, it still hurt--that throbbing, aching void inside him that he’d tried to fill with his wife’s love, because he couldn’t have his soulmate.

 

He closed his eyes and imagined Patrick’s smirk, the way his lips would curve up in that exasperated-but-accepting smile before he relented and let Pete crawl all over him. He wondered distantly what it would feel like to press himself into Patrick’s side now, now that he’d lost all that weight. He’d never cared what shape Patrick was in, all he cared about was that his best friend was happy, was healthy. The only thing that he hated about Patrick was the disgust in his eyes as he looked at himself, the way he would tug the brim of his hat lower to try to hide behind a hat and baggy hoodies. He wanted nothing more than to bury himself into Patrick so that he could spend forever telling him how perfect he was.

 

An idea struck him, a hope. He unlocked his phone and clicked over to his voicemails and...there it was. A voicemail Patrick had left him nearly two years ago. He pressed “play” and as Patrick’s voice floated out to him...he took what felt like his first breath in ages.

 

 _Pete, you dumbfuck. I swear that you’re partly a ghost or something, because I KNOW you were right next to me and now you’re gone._ Distant thumping music could be heard behind Patrick’s voice, and Pete could imagine the scene with crystalline clarity. _I’m outside, by the car, it got too loud in there for me. I don’t know where you are but come back, alright? Or at least call me back and tell me you’re okay. If I’m not here, remember we’re at the Hilton on West 17th, room 214. I’ll call the desk and tell them to leave you an extra key in case you lost yours.”_ He stared at the screen declaring the message had reached its end, feeling like his heart was starting to beat properly, and pressed the “Replay” button.

 

But instead, the screen went black and the phone flashed 00:01 at him, incrementing up, and Pete realized he had hit the “Redial” button by mistake. _Shit._ Hurriedly, he hit “End Call” and prayed that Patrick wouldn’t notice, that the call had dropped into the ether of the cell phone towers...because he was _trying_ . He was trying to give Patrick _space_ and _room_ and _time._ He would give Patrick anything he asked for, even if it tore him apart, to never see him sad and small like he had been at the end of the _Folie_ tour.

 

The phone vibrated in his hand. _Shit._ He stared at it, terrified like it was a poisonous snake. Should he pretend like he wasn’t there and text him back in the morning and hope that Patrick would believe that he butt-dialed him in his sleep? Should he pick up and tell Patrick that everything was fine, that he had been up late writing and try to pass it off as just a friendly hello?

 

The buzzing stopped, and his phone proclaimed he had one missed call. _No voicemail._ He thought, and for some reason that filled him with heartbreak. He buried his face in the pillow again, wishing manically that Patrick would just leave him a message, that he could just hear his voice.

 

It buzzed again, two short bursts. He looked up and saw another notification.

 

_Text Message from Patrick Stump_

_ >I know you’re there. _

 

He stared at the phone for a full minute. This was...this was more than he’d had in _years_ . This wasn’t radio silence but it wasn’t an SOS either. This was _Patrick_.

 

_ >>didnt mean 2 call, sry. I hope I didnt wake u up. _

 

His phone buzzed again, the little bubble of Patrick typing turning into a message.

 

> _That still doesn’t explain why you’re staring at my contact info at three in the morning._

 

Pete grimaced. What could he say? _Oh well...I was listening to your CD and trying not to cry cause I miss you so bad, and I’ve already been crying all night over my ex-wife who I was hoping would make me forget you, and I accidentally called you. My bad._

 

>> _m fine, Im sry._

 

He stared at the three little dots, half hoping Patrick would believe him, and half fearing that he wouldn’t.

 

> _Do you want to talk?_

 

 _That_ he hadn’t been expecting. At most, he had been hoping for a few words of comfort, for a distressingly old-fashioned smiley face emoji made of a colon and a open parenthesis, because Patrick refused to use _real_ emojis. His heart felt like it stopped beating for a minute.

 

 _ >>U dnot need 2, im ok. _He felt something like pride that he could finally say he could do this on his own, like he was actually growing out of being Peter Pan. But then his phone buzzed again, and he gasped aloud.

 

_ >I’ll be there in forty minutes. _

 

~//~

 

He hoped Patrick would figure out that he had a spare key in the fake plant that sat in front of his door. He’d been putting a key there since he got his very own first apartment, because God knows he’d lost his keys more times than he could count...and getting out of bed just seemed like it would require a miracle.

 

But thankfully Patrick was actually _perceptive_ and _remembered idiotic facts_ about his (former?) best friend….because Pete could hear the door open and close and he just buried himself deeper into the blankets.

 

He could hear a small sigh from what sounded like the vicinity of the doorway, and he squeezed his eyes shut at the tears that prickled there. He _would not_ cry at hearing his best friend, love of his life, soulmate and the person who wanted to get away from him sigh. He _would not_ throw up from hearing _his_ _Patrick_ make a sound that was heartbreakingly close to _disappointment._

 

The bed dipped down and he heard the twin _thump_ of shoes hitting the floor, and then Patrick was pulling the covers back, unwinding them from where he was cocooned away from the world and pulling him close. Some distant part of his brain that wasn’t frozen in shock noticed that he smelled good, like lavender and cotton, not like unwashed clothes and four-guys-crammed-in-a-van like he’d been expecting for some reason.

 

But then he was turning around, burrowing into Patrick’s chest and crying, sobbing out his heartbreak and hopes and fears and shattered dreams into his best friend’s hoodie. Patrick just held him, his chin tucked snug and safe against Pete’s scalp, his arms tight and warm around him. He whispered into Pete’s ear a soft stream of _it’s alright, it’s okay just let it go, I’m here, I’ve got you, you’re safe, it’s going to be okay, I promise, it’ll be alright, nothing’s going to happen, we’ll figure it out, you’re okay, you’re okay, you’re okay._ That just made his heart break a little more, made him cry a bit harder and clutch his fingers a bit more...because _it was okay_ and it was _Patrick_ who was making it okay...but this wouldn’t last, it never lasted because he would never, ever, ever get to _keep Patrick._

 

Impossibly, he realized after a while he had run out of tears, that he wasn’t crying anymore--he was just curled up around Patrick and his head was silent--it was clear and clean and he was _sleepy_.

 

“--’m sorry, I’m so sorry, you don’t have to stay, I’m--”

 

“Shhhhh.” Patrick reached up towards something and then he was wiping tears from Pete’s face with a kleenex, before pressing it to his nose. “Blow.” So he did, and Patrick tossed the soiled tissue off the bed and Pete got his first look at him in the dim light. His bleach-blonde hair was mussed and totally exploded into ridiculous bedhead, he was wearing his glasses and a grey hoodie with black-and-yellow batman pajama pants. He was _thin_ , God was he thin and Pete didn’t know how he felt about it. But his eyes were clear, his smile was small and soft and not cracked around the edges from the strain of plastering it on. _Fuck but he’s beautiful_ Pete thought for what felt like the millionth time in his life, just like he had anytime his google alert told him that anyone on the internet had posted something about Patrick, or when he would look at Patrick’s picture and try to take deep breaths anytime he had an anxiety attack. Patrick took his glasses off and set them on the nightstand before he settled down, pulling him close. “Sleep, I’ll be here in the morning.”

 

Surrounded with his whole world, Pete slept.

 

~//~

 

Waking with a splitting headache that told him he’d cried too much and hadn’t drank any water, Pete groaned as he rolled over...or at least tried to. His movement was impeded by a solid, warm mass next to him, and for a split second he wondered who he had brought home this time, what bad decision he was going to have to try to kindly talk out of leaving without a fuss. But then he saw the blocky glasses folded next to his empty phone charger, and it came rushing back.

 

_Patrick._

 

He was here. His best friend in the whole world was _here,_ sleeping with _his_ comforter tucked under his chin and one arm wrapped around _him._

 

He couldn’t help it, he reached out and smoothed a lock of blonde hair from Patrick’s face, noticing how the sharp lines and angles he had stared at in all those promotion photos had hidden the softness that was still there in his cheekbones, in his lips. He was still _his_ Patrick, he was still his best friend.

 

Stirring, Patrick’s eyes blinked open slowly, and Pete couldn’t help but be surprised. _Nothing_ used to wake Patrick...they had once stacked twenty-three VHS movies on various parts of his body as a prank and he hadn’t woken up, not even when he moved in his sleep and they all clattered down.

 

“Hey.” He gave Pete a small smile that made him feel like his heart would burst, and he hoped the smile he gave back actually looked happy.

 

“Hey.” He looked down at the neck of Patrick’s shirt, the zipper of his hoodie had ridden down to expose one of his old, well-loved Bowie shirts. He didn’t know what to say...how do you say _thanks for coming over and holding me while I got snot all over your hoodie and by the way I’m maybe totally in love with you?_

 

Patrick’s hand gently tilted his chin up, making Pete meet his eyes. “I’m proud of you.”

 

 _That_ was not what he was expecting. He thought maybe he’d say something like _You okay?_ or _what’s going on?..._ something Patrick-like. But not that. “Huh?”

 

“I’ve been talking to your mom every couple weeks.” He gave Pete what might have been a bashful smile. “I was worried about you, but I wanted to give you space. She told me how you’d been going to therapy and that you bought a wok and learned to make stir-fry and that you’ve been a really good dad to Bronx. I’m really proud of you.”

 

“Thanks.” Pete tried to process that _Patrick had been worried about him_ , that _Patrick had been checking on him_ and he’d never known. It occurred to him, as he pondered the zipper on Patrick’s hoodie that maybe they had _both_ grown up. “It’s been rough, the divorce and all the shit that goes with that...but I guess I just realized that I didn’t have anyone to hang on to anymore, that I couldn’t ride anybody’s coattails for this one. Bronx needed me to be okay and...I guess I had to make myself okay.”

 

The smile on Patrick’s lips was wide and there was pride shining in his eyes when he dared to look back up again. “Good for you.” Pete felt like he would crack under the weight of that gaze, of his best friend looking at him, not with pity or exasperation, but with _pride_. “What happened last night?”

 

 _Oh. Fuck._ He sighed, knowing that this was when Patrick would look disappointed in him, this was when it got sad and depressing again. “I just...I was doing great, but you know how something just reminds you of all the shit you’re trying to run away from and it all crashes down on you again?”

 

Patrick nodded. “Yeah, I’ve had that happen to me once or twice. I think you’re doing better than I did, considering you didn’t write an idiotic blog post in your depression.”  

 

Grimacing, Pete squeezed Patrick’s side in sympathy. “I saw that, I’m so sorry. I wanted to call and tell you but I wasn’t sure...I didn’t…”

 

“Shhh.” Patrick shushed him again, placing a finger over his lips and then running it gently over his cheek. “It’s okay. I’m good now, I took a page out of your book and went and talked to someone about it.” He gave Pete a look. “What happened that you accidentally called me, though?”

 

 _This_ was the part Pete didn’t know how to answer. _This_ was the part that he had been running away from this whole time. He had been talking to his therapist about everything but _this,_ because he didn’t even know how to put it into words without fucking it up. “Ummm...can I just claim my free pass for that time you stepped on my headphones in New Jersey?”

 

Shaking his head, Patrick smiled. “Nope. That only works when it isn’t invoked after waking me up at the asscrack of dawn.” Pete felt guilt wash over him and he looked down, apologies ready on his lips, but Patrick must have seen it, because he tipped his chin up again, fingers stroking over his cheek softly. “Hey, hey...I was kidding. You don’t need a free pass, because it’s okay and because you’re going to tell me what’s going on, and I’m going to listen with absolutely no judgement and then we’re going to figure it out.”

 

“When did you get so good at grief counseling?” Pete muttered, lost in the way Patrick was looking at him.

 

“When I started seeing someone who actually has several degrees in How To Talk About Your Feelings.” Patrick smiled again, and Pete knew he was going to fuck this all up and also knew he _had_ to do it.

 

“I…” He took a deep breath in and held it for three seconds, before slowly letting it out, just like his therapist had taught him. “I’ve been dealing with everything, you know? Ashlee and I splitting up, I knew it was going to happen, and I’m dealing with it. Being a father was a crazy thing and I had no idea how terrified I was of that...but sometimes there’s just other stuff that I haven’t dealt with, and it just comes up every now and then and I have to just stuff it back into the box.”

 

Perfect pink lips tucked up at the corner as Patrick rolled his eyes. “Isn’t that what therapy is for? To unpack to box so you don’t have to shove things into it anymore?”

 

Pete nodded, trying to figure out the best lie to tell Patrick, the lie that would let Pete keep him in his life, to make him stay and not leave again without messing everything up. Because the truth was too big, too scary and too terrifying for him to tell a total stranger he was paying to keep silent, because that would make it real. There was no way in hell he could actually _tell_ Patrick the truth.

 

“Pete.” He heard the familiar steel in Patrick’s voice that had always made him feel safe even as he was promising to do things he didn’t want to do, like to not ever take a bottle of pills in a parking lot again without calling, or drinking four bottles of vodka in one sitting. “I promise, whatever it is, you can tell me.” Pete felt the truth fluttering behind his lips, begging to be free, to be spoken into the sunlit air of his bedroom as Patrick grabbed his hands and held them in his own, and looked into his eyes and whispered, “ _Trust me.”_

 

“ _IloveyouandIonlymarriedAshleebecauseIknewIcouldn’thaveyouandnowshe’sgoneandI’malone.”_ The words tumbled out of him and Pete squeezed his eyes shut, terrified as he felt Patrick stiffen, felt him squeeze his hands in surprise.

 

But it only lasted a minute, because then Patrick was pulling him closer, wrapping his arms around him and rolling them over to bury his face in Pete’s shoulder. He could have sworn he felt Patrick’s lips press a kiss to his neck and he gasped. “Oh my God you idiot, I love you too.” The words came out muffled but he could _hear_ the smile in them, he could feel the way Patrick was pressed against him, anchoring him and he felt like he was dreaming, he _had to be dreaming._ But then Patrick pulled his face from his neck and he brought his hands up to cup Pete’s cheeks gently, like he was something precious. “I have for years, but you were with Ashlee by the time I realized it and I thought I’d lost my chance forever. That I’d been too oblivious for too long and I’d never get another shot.”

 

He knew it probably wasn’t very attractive to have your jaw almost unhinge in shock, but Pete couldn’t help it. He stared up at Patrick like he had spoken the words in a different language, but somehow he still understood. He tried to ask a million questions, opening and closing his mouth, but all that came out was a single word bathed in shock. “What?”

 

Nodding, Patrick bit his bottom lip and looked embarrassed. “You didn’t think this whole hiatus was just about the band and the music, did you?” Pete nodded dumbly and Patrick sighed. “This is going to sound horrible...I just couldn't keep watching it. I couldn’t keep watching you be in love with someone who wasn’t me when I realized that you’d loved me all along and...I was too stupid to see it so you gave up on me and found someone else.”

 

“I didn’t give up--” Pete started to protest, but a look from Patrick silenced him, and he realized he was right. He _had_ given up on ever getting Patrick to see him, to love him. That was why, after all, he hadn’t been just crying over losing his wife all night.

 

“I don’t blame you.” Patrick’s voice was gentle. “If anything, I’m just sorry I was such an idiot and didn’t see it sooner.” He looked down and when he looked back up, there was sorrow in his eyes that made Pete’s heart stop. It looked too much like the sorrow he’d seen in Patrick’s eyes for so many years when people didn’t love _Folie_ or when Anna had left him. “And I’m so sorry all this happened to you. I wanted you and her to make it.”

 

“Why?” Pete breathed, mind spinning with confusion over why in the world _Patrick_ of all people would have wanted his marriage to work out.

 

“Because I wanted you to be happy. And even though I messed it all up for us, you’ve always deserved to be loved.”

 

 _That_ was the exact moment Pete felt everything click into place, he felt the pieces of his heart slide back together and his soul knit itself back together again. He reached up and pulled Patrick’s face down, lips sealing together in the kiss he’d been dreaming of for _years_ and was every bit as perfect as he had imagined. There were tears on his cheeks and he didn’t know if they were his or Patrick’s, but he didn’t care because _Patrick loved him._

 

He shimmied and wriggled and rolled them over, tangling their legs and laying Patrick on his back, Pete’s body half covering him as he pulled away to look down at _the love of his goddamn life_ . There were tears shining in Patrick’s eyes, and his hair had fallen back in his face. Pete reached up to smooth it back and he smiled a watery, shaky smile that felt like the most _real_ thing he’d ever done. “We both messed it all up, okay? But it doesn’t matter because we’re here now and _I fucking love you so much, Patrick Stump.”_ The smile that broke over his face was priceless, lighting up those blue-green eyes he had always thought were the most beautiful in the world.

 

Patrick pulled him back down and they kissed, slow and tender at first, with the weight of years of heartbreak and misunderstanding making their touches tentative. They were rediscovering each other, like a light had been suddenly turned on after years of blindness.

But then Pete couldn’t help it, couldn’t help but gently bite into that plush, gorgeous lower lip that had been the subject of his fantasies and dreams for _years_ , running his tongue across where his teeth had been moments before…

 

And Patrick fucking _moaned_ , deep and hungry, and he was lost.

 

Hands slid under shirts, fingers found zippers and ties and slid under waistbands. The covers tumbled and twisted around them as they pulled and pushed and gasped desperately into each others’ mouths as they shucked clothes to the floor. Pete gasped as Patrick pushed him onto his back and crawled on top of him, settling into him and their bare skin met--heat and _home._

 

“God, Pete, _God.”_ Patrick moaned, sucking Pete’s lip between his teeth as Pete bucked up against him, their cocks sliding against each other with just the fabric of their underwear keeping them apart. “What do you--is this too much, I--”

 

“ _Patrick.”_ Pete couldn’t help the way his name came out, desperate and pitched high with need. _“Please._ ” He felt like this was _everything_ , this was the end of crying into the pillows at night as his heart broke, this was the end of lonely days with nobody to argue with about if pancakes or waffles were better, this was the end of a road that he’d started walking down the minute that Patrick opened the door in that argyle sweater. “ _Please.”_

 

“I’ve got you, Pete.” Patrick’s voice was strong and soft, so full of love and safety and home and everything he had needed for so long, everything he’d been trying to find he wanted to cy. “I’ve got you, baby.” He kissed Pete again, and oh God it was like Pete suddenly needed to be kissing Patrick to get oxygen, it was like he was drowning and Patrick was giving him air. His lips were perfect, the slide of his tongue in just the right places was perfect, his hands in his hair and the press of their bodies...it was _everything._

 

Breaking away from Pete’s lips, Patrick started pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses to his neck, to his collarbone, murmuring soft praises of _you’re gorgeous_ and _so hot_ and _love you,_ his hands never sliding over his skin and making him feel looked-after, contained, safe. Like Patrick was finding all the broken places and putting them back together. Gently, with tenderness that surprised him, Patrick kissed down his chest and laved softly at his nipples, pulling a groan from Pete that seemed to edge on pain. Patrick pulled back and looked up at him, mouth red and wet from the kisses, hair mussed in glorious disarray and Pete couldn’t help it, couldn’t keep back the words he’d wanted to say for so long.

 

“ _Jesusfuck_ you’re so beautiful Patrick, oh my God.” A blush bloomed across Patrick’s cheeks, spreading in a luscious wave down his chest and Pete felt like dying. Patrick crawled back up, pulling him close and kissed him again, full of promises and just a hint of teeth.

 

“What do you want?” He cupped Pete’s cheek, thumb stroking softly like he was something precious. “I’ll give you anything you want.” He whispered and Pete knew instantly what he wanted, what he _needed_ , like it was a secret he didn’t know until he was asked but now it was clamoring to be told.

 

“Fuck me, _please.”_ Patrick’s eyes widened and Pete couldn’t hold back a whine at his look of hesitancy, the way his hips stilled against Pete’s.

 

“Are you sure?” He gave a nervous laugh that Patrick knew all too well--it was the sound he made when he wanted to propose a different chord progression but knew Pete would pitch a fit. “I thought maybe you’d want to go slow, to--”

 

Shaking his head vigorously, Pete pulled Patrick back down, pressing their lips together and darting his tongue into his mouth, all licks and bites and hunger. Patrick looked a bit dazed when he broke the kiss, and Pete knew in that moment that Patrick was close to saying yes. Rolling his hips, they both gasped at the feeling and Pete whined softly. “No, no I want you _right now_ .” He ran his hand through Patrick’s hair, feeling its softness and reveling in being allowed to _touch_ , to _taste_ . The uncertainty was still in Patrick’s eyes, and Pete could _see_ him thinking about Pete curled up in a ball crying just hours before, he could imagine Patrick replaying whatever his mom had told him, wondering if this was just another instance of Pete Wentz going too fast, wanting too much. He whispered softly, willing Patrick to see how much he needed this, how much he wanted this. “Please....we’ve wasted enough time.” Patrick’s eyes were huge and blue as he said the words and he touched his cheek softly, begging without shame--after all, he’d lost any shame when it came to Patrick _years_ ago. “I’m already yours...I always have been.”

 

With a moan, Patrick closed his eyes nodded, before tucking his head into Pete’s neck, kissing and _sucking and oh my God._ Pete’s thoughts flew out the window as Patrick’s teeth bit down at the place where his neck met his shoulder and sucked softly, making a magnificent hickey that Pete couldn’t wait to see. Hands slid down his side, pulling down his boxers and Patrick smiled up at him, eyes full of tenderness. “Do you have stuff?”

 

Nodding hurriedly, Pete reached into his nightstand drawer, hand flailing for the lube and condoms he knew he had thrown in there months ago. He grabbed them and practically threw them on the bed, just in time to see Patrick’s grin as he sucked Pete down, and then he was _lost_ . He grabbed the headboard to stop himself from burying his hands in Patrick’s hair...unsure if he would want that. What he was doing with his mouth and his tongue... _God_ Pete felt like he was going to die as a lube-slick finger circled at his entrance and he moaned, waiting and ready, wishing Patrick would just _fucking do it_ already. But Patrick was, as ever, a master at everything he did. He circled Pete’s hole until he was gasping and begging shamelessly, then sucked Pete down hard as he slipped a single finger inside. Pete gasped and then relaxed, already ready and begging for more. Patrick pulled off and pressed sharp, clever bites to the inside of his thighs as he slid a second finger in, brushing Pete’s prostate and making him shout.

 

“Good?” Pete looked down to find Patrick looking at him, nuzzing his balls with his nose before his tongue darted out to lick a long stripe up his shaft.

 

“ _So good, so so so good, Patrick please--”_ Pete’s words turned into a high-whine as Patrick began thrusting with his fingers in earnest, sucking at the head as he tucked a third finger in. His back arched as he started to ride Patrick’s hand, shameless and not caring what he said or how loud he said it.

 

Then it was gone, Patrick’s mouth and hands, and Pete was looking up, nearly crying that he was so ready, so turned on. “Fucking gorgeous.” Patrick breathed again as he climbed back up Pete, his cock dark and full, sheathed with a condom and slicked up with lube. Pete spread his legs, trying to not be intimidated by Patrick’s size... _fuck_ was he hung for a small guy. He shivered at the blunt press of Patrick’s cock against him, opening his eyes when he heard him whisper his name.

 

“You okay?” Patrick’s eyes were filled with nothing but concern and understanding, and Pete wondered for the millionth time how someone that incredible and selfless could love him. Then his heart skipped a beat as he realized he finally knew the answer to that question--Patrick _did_ love him, and it was all he could do to nod his head and wrap his arms around him eagerly.

 

“ _Yes.”_ He wrapped his hand around the back of Patrick’s neck, pulling them up to look in his eyes. “C’mon, need you, want you.” He pressed a soft kiss to Patrick’s lips, words slipping between them. “Love you.”

 

A moan fell from Patrick’s lips as he pushed inside, murmuring back, “Love _you_.” He stilled as they both gasped at the feeling and Pete gripped the back of his neck, pressing their foreheads together as his body clenched around him, nodding his head and begging him to keep going as he relaxed. Patrick whispered soft assurances into his lips as he started to push in--slowly, slowly, pausing whenever Pete so much as grimaced, slowly-- and they groaned in tandem as he bottomed out.

 

“ _Fuck_ Pete.” Patrick was still, concerned but his eyes were wide and he was panting, short little gasps that made him shiver. “Can I--”

 

“ _Yesyesyes_ .” Pete threw his head back as he pulled out a few inches and then pushed back in, just barely stroking his prostate. “ _Patrick, please.”_

 

A moan fell from Patrick’s lips as his self-control seemed to shatter, his head fell onto Pete’s shoulder as he started to thrust in earnest. Pete wasn’t sure what he was saying, wasn’t even sure if words or gibberish or just sounds were falling from his lips, but he couldn’t stop. All he could feel was the way his breath felt hot against his neck, the melodic sounds he was making as he thrust and moved. Then he realized there were tears streaming down his cheeks as it hit him like a ton of bricks that this was _Patrick,_ this was his _best friend and the love of his life_ taking him apart piece by piece and putting him back together. This was everything he had wanted and needed--he felt whole and perfect. “I love you, I love you, I love you.” He was babbling, saying it over and over in time with Patrick’s thrusts, groans and gasps punctuating the words.

 

“Pete--” Patrick pulled his face from his shoulder to look at him, his eyes wide and pupils blown. “ _Pete_ , I’m gonna, I can’t--”

 

Hearing that Patrick was close, that he was overwhelmed with _him_ \--that was enough. His orgasm tumbled through him like a wave, grabbing everything inside him as he curled up and came, shouting Patrick’s name. Everything happened like shots from a camera after that--each moment measured by the way Patrick was thrusting into him, eyes riveted on him, something like shock on his face as he groaned Pete’s name a final time as he came.

 

He sagged onto Pete, his upper body held up by his arms bracketed under Pete’s shoulders, his weight heavy but perfect. Pete had crawled onto Patrick a thousand times, but this...Patrick on top of him, holding him down and safe--it felt right.

 

 _Everything_ felt right.

 

They were gasping, breathing an uneven tempo as they clutched each other, and Pete wondered distantly if Patrick would freak out, if this was going to be something that happened once and Patrick would realize what a gigantic fucking dumpster-on-fire Pete Wentz was all over again and run away.

 

“Hey.” Patrick whispered into his neck and Pete flinched, suddenly ticklish from the oversensitivity and Patrick huffed a small laugh as he rolled off him. He pulled the condom off and tied it, throwing it to the side with a crinkled nose that Pete knew well from years of Patrick putting up with his unwashed laundry and greasy hair. Pulling one of his many t-shirts from their place littering the floor, Patrick gently wiped him off...then he rolled to his side so they were looking at each other, faces inches apart on the same pillow. He reached up and wiped the tears from Pete’s cheeks, and he felt his heart clench at what he saw in Patrick’s eyes--love and compassion and tenderness and _home._

 

“Hey.” He took a deep breath. “Does this mean you’re going to stay?”

 

Patrick’s smile was soft and filled up all the spaces left in his heart. “For as long as you want me.”

 

 _Forever_ sounded pretty good.

  
  
  
  
  



End file.
